


Flightless

by ghoulaesthetics



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, themes of ptsd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 10:43:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9178183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoulaesthetics/pseuds/ghoulaesthetics
Summary: It was difficult to say which was worse on a nightly basis.Occasionally, the nightmares and subsequent panic attacks would win out. Angela couldn't shake the feeling of being on the field, of feeling life after life slip through her fingers, even after she woke. Other times, it could be blamed on the ghosts of old gunshot wounds and gashes flaring up again and making themselves grossly known, waking her with a sharp start and a pained cry. Usually, a sick combination of the two was held accountable for her lost sleep.





	

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes u gotta just put ur faves through the same shit you experience & call it a day. vent piece i did a while back & edited. angela copes questionably & accepts help about as willingly as i do lmao. 
> 
> ptsd themes warning i guess. thats what the rating is for. nothing too awful but u never know.

It was difficult to say which was worse on a nightly basis.

Occasionally, the nightmares and subsequent panic attacks would win out. Angela couldn't shake the feeling of being on the field, of feeling life after life slip through her fingers, even after she woke. Other times, it could be blamed on the ghosts of old gunshot wounds and gashes flaring up again and making themselves grossly known, waking her with a sharp start and a pained cry. Usually, a sick combination of the two was held accountable for her lost sleep.

It was one thing, dealing with them on her own. Angela knew her own night terrors well enough. It wasn’t always pleasant, coming down from them--actually, scratch that, coming down from them was _never_ pleasant, but she could do it. She could manage. No one was ever the wiser that the ever-serene and put-together Dr Ziegler suffered from the same demons that the rest of Overwatch did.

That was pre-Fareeha, of course. There was nothing Angela could do to hide that part of herself from her once they started sharing a bed on a regular basis. Sometimes she could sense it coming before night even fell--there were certain feelings and triggers she had learned to look out for. On those nights, she would plead that she had _far_ too much work to leave for the next day, no, really Fareeha, it was fine, she would simply go sleep in her own quarters when she was ready.

Fareeha would leave her, reluctantly, and Angela would be alone to deal with her thoughts.

 

* * *

 

She tended not to get much sleep on those nights.

Eventually, though, she ran out of excuses, and she resigned herself to the fact that Fareeha would eventually bear witness to Angela’s nightly ritual of falling apart.

The dreams were indistinct, as always. Shapes, sounds, but mostly the _feeling,_ the sense of unrelenting dread and despair and heaviness that gripped her and refused to let go. Where was she? Was she close to her team members? Were they safe? Could she do anything if they weren’t? _Did it even matter?_

There was the gripping, the clawing at her flesh and the smell that hit her nose as soon as she felt the physical pain. She couldn’t think of any other way to describe it than _sick._ She couldn’t think of much in this moment at all.

On some level, she knew it was fake, but it was very hard to remind herself of that when she was in the middle of it. The shame that came afterwards was usually responsible for that much.

The thrashing was what roused Fareeha more than anything else. Angela was a sleep talker, and Fareeha could usually ignore it (it was rather cute, after all) but tonight it sounded more like soft whimpering than anything else. She kept a close ear on her just in case, only half-reading her novel at this point.

Whimpering had given way to distressed movements, which led to full-on sobs and shouts and violent thrashing.

Fareeha had tossed the book on the floor almost immediately. She didn’t know what she should be doing in this moment, only that she should be doing _something_ to help Angela.

“Angela--Angela, listen to me, hear my voice.” She had shifted so that she was kneeling beside her body, still unconscious and jerking around.

Her hands hovered above, unsure what she should do with them. There was a lot she was unsure of, actually. She had always suspected that Angela wasn’t getting sufficient amounts of rest, but had no idea that this could be the culprit behind it.

Fareeha moved on instinct. She drew Angela’s spasming body up and into her arms, damn-near crushing her close. She felt the angry tremors wracking her form and heard her half-sobs, half-screeches, much closer to Fareeha’s ears in this new position.

Fareeha pressed her head into her shoulder and tried her best to rub her back while still holding Angela firmly. She kept a running monologue the whole time, a mess of soothing sounds and low words meant to bring her back to consciousness and into a more calm state. The constant stream of words also served to keep Fareeha focused. As much as her heart broke to see Angela like this, it would not do for her to break down as well. She kept at it for what felt like forever until she felt the movements slow and the sounds return back into soft whimpering. She couldn’t tell if she was awake yet, or if the brunt of the nightmare had simply passed on.

“Angela?” She whispered into soft blonde hair. “Everything is fine. It’s okay. You are safe here. I’ve got you.” The last sentence was repeated over and over as Fareeha rubbed soothing circles on her back. She was shaking still, though not nearly as bad as before, and had gone more or less limp in Fareeha’s arms.

Finally, in a small, watery voice, Angela spoke up.

“Fareeha?” She asked softly. She hadn’t totally registered where she was yet. In the bed, sure, but why was she sitting upright? Had she been this warm before? Tentatively, she raised her hands slowly until she was met with Fareeha’s solid form.

Well. That answered those questions.

She gripped loosely at her shirt, Angela’s fingers not completely functioning yet. Her face felt oddly wet.

“I’ve got you,” Fareeha whispered again, tightening her own hold on Angela.

But instead of burrowing further into her, Angela pushed back. The movement wasn’t strong, but she was let go immediately, much to Fareeha’s confusion.

“You shouldn’t--I don’t want you to see this,” she said hoarsely, shrinking back away from her. “This isn’t--You don’t have to--I can deal with this.” She was still sweating, still on the cusp of hyperventilating, Everything about her seemed held together by the flimsiest piece of thread. Fareeha had never seen her look so vulnerable.

Fareeha gave her her space. Clearly, touching was a no-go. Once again, she was struck with uncertainty, the only sounds in the room being Angela’s hard breathing. She waited for a while, and then spoke up again.

“Ange?” Softly, very softly. “Are you… alright?”

Angela was still hoarse. “More or less,” she said, forcing out a scratchy false-laugh. “Night terrors, you know. They tend to be inconvenient.” She saw no point in lying about what that was. Fareeha was intelligent, and after the initial shock wore off would put two and two together on her own. Besides, Angela prided herself on her honesty.

“Are you sure?” she watched Angela lay back down and crawl under the covers, huddling up under them so the only indication she was even there was the top of her head.

Angela considered her answer for a moment. “Not really. No.” She was muffled by the blankets. “It’ll pass, though. It always does in the morning.”

Fareeha still had questions. Of course she did. How could she have known that this sort of thing was plaguing Angela like so many others? Perhaps the fact that, despite knowing she had been on the front lines, she had never associated her with battle was a contributor. Perhaps it was the fact that Angela seemed near-indestructible, untouched by the general horrors around her. But she was, oh, she was. She was only human, after all. Just as vulnerable and soft as the rest of them.

Her body language--curled up into herself and defensive--was enough for her to know that there would be no conversation on the subject tonight. Or perhaps even tomorrow. Angela was honest, fareeha knew, but she also liked to take things at her own pace. When and if she was ready, they would talk about it.

Instead of pressing, Fareeha clicked off the light beside the bed and lay down beside her facing her back, close enough but still not touching.

“You know, I’m always here for you. If you ever want to talk. If you think it’ll make things better for you, I mean,” she said softly, watching the steadying rise and fall of Angela’s torso.

It was still in the room for a second. Fareeha though she might have fallen back into sleep.

She hadn’t. “I don’t,” she near-whispered. “But. Thank you.”

Fareeha said nothing when she wiggled back slightly so she was pressed slightly against her chest. She didn’t dare drape an arm over, though; Angela would no doubt have told her if that was what she wanted. As much as Fareeha wanted to hold her right now, it wasn’t what was needed. She suspected, more than anything, her presence was working the best.

“Of course, Angela,” she said quietly, moving ever so slightly forward. “Anytime.”


End file.
